


Goodbye, Wendy

by Measured_Words



Category: Wendy the Werewolf Stalker
Genre: Angst, Diners, F/M, Foundling Werewolf, Jekyll Hyde Complex, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pre-Canon, Pre-Change Werewolf, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Werewolf Angst, Werewolves, runaways - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson's only been working at the diner a few weeks when a young runaway named Wendy captures his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye, Wendy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elf (Elfwreck)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfwreck/gifts).



> I've always love season three the best, and I love the UST between Wendy and Carson. This is the first time we hear about the summer that Wendy ran away, too, and I think her response to Amelia, when she asks her if she's met him is interesting, because she responds that she doesn’t know him – which isn't quite the same thing. And while he could have known her name from the other pack members who'd run into her at that point, he seems to know exactly who she is. And then the look on her face when she finally kills him (;_;) before she goes to take on the alpha, like she wishes things could have gone different. We know he is one of the "foundling" wolves the pack picked up too, and even I've always wondered what they must have all gone through before they really understood what they were. I've also always really liked the fan theory that they had met before, and this is just my take on it, combining all those things!
> 
> Thanks to AlterEgon for the beta!

Carson looked up again from wiping down the counter to find the girl staring at him. She'd shut him down pretty fast after he tried to talk to her the first time, but now she looked away guiltily when he smiled her way. He picked up the coffee pot and wandered her way.

"Refill?"

She looked down at the cup she'd been lingering over for the past half hour, fiddling with the fraying sleeves of her denim jacket. The newspaper she'd been holding over her head to keep the rain off lay drying on the opposite seat of the booth.

"I'm good," she said, a bit curtly.

"Refills are free," he pointed out. There was something about this girl, other than the fact that she was pretty. She was certainly a runaway, and he knew all about that. But she made what he thought of as the Hyde-voice in the back of his head nervous: She wasn't afraid of him. It was refreshing – he felt more like himself than he had in a long time.

"Oh." She pushed her cup his way, and he refilled it almost to the brim, leaving her just enough room for the one cream, one sugar he'd seen her pour into the first. "Thanks."

"I'm Carson," he said, hoping to draw her out a bit.

"Your nametag says Andrew." She didn't even have to glance at it – she must have read it earlier, but now she looked up at him, eyebrows arched.

"Yeah, they just gave me the tag when I started." He shrugged – it had only been a few weeks before. "Last guy they had must have been an Andrew. They have a "Janice" too, but I don't think I make a good Janice."

"I'm Wendy," she told him. "Nice to meet you."

Wendy came back the next morning. It was raining again, and this time she didn't even have a newspaper. Her jacket was soaked through, her dark hair plastered to her face. He brought her a coffee before she even asked, and sat down across from her. The diner was quiet this early, save for a few regulars nursing their own drinks.

"I want to offer you my jacket," he said. It was a refreshing feeling. If she'd been some other street kid, he might have just brought it over, draped it across her shoulders, and known she was his, claimed by his kindness. But Wendy was different, and it felt good to think maybe things could be different for him, too. "Let you warm up a bit."

She smirked. "You got a towel?"

He shrugged, standing up again as the bell jingled and someone else came in. On his way back from taking their order, he brought her over a clean dish towel, and set his jacket down beside her.

She took the towel, drying off her hair and neck. Eventually she stripped off her wet denim as well, pulling on the lined leather and huddling inside it, fingers wrapped around the warmth of the ceramic mug. 

Wendy looked up when he set the plate down in front of her. "Thanks - why are you doing this?" 

"I've been there." It was true, but it wasn't the whole truth, of course. Carson didn't know if he could explain that if he wanted to. He wasn't sure how much he understood. It was an instinct, and, like many of his instincts, confusing. But Hyde, at least, was quiet. "Not that long ago, really. Before I started working here."

She nodded to indicate that he could, or should, sit, and he settled down across from her as she picked up the fork and shovelled some eggs into her mouth. Once she swallowed, she gestured at the bacon. "You take it. I don't eat bacon."

"I don't eat meat," he countered, as was met again by those pointedly raised eyebrows. She must think he was messing with her, but it was the truth, more or less. "It doesn't agree with me." That was something else he didn't really understand. He didn't know how or why it worked, but when he could avoid it, he always felt a little more in control of himself. It was a weird addiction, and he'd never told anyone else about it. Carnivores anonymous – twenty three days without meat. He didn't know for sure that it was linked, that it wasn't all part of something else that was wrong with him, but he knew eventually he'd give in and find himself half cooking a steak, and he'd feel angry and out of sorts and something would happen, and he'd have to move on. He watched Wendy finish the rest of the breakfast, so that soon the two strips of bacon were the only thing left lying on the plate, like a neat little barrier between them.

"Where are you from?" She asked first, and slowly the conversation spun out through the day. Carson had to be careful about his answers, and he thought she might have picked up on some of that. But learning about her just made him feel more intrigued – she was 15, only a few years younger than him, and she'd left home only a month or so before. It was summer for her – she could still go back home and finish school, but hadn't decided if she would. Wendy was careful about some of her answers too.

At the end of his shift, it was still raining. The weathermen were talking like it might clear up finally the next day, but it was bound to be another miserable night if you had to spend it outside somewhere.

"Do you need a place to stay? I don't have a lot of space, but I have a roof."

He could tell she was considering it.

"I'm not asking you for anything in return. I can take the floor." 

Wendy didn't agree right away, so he wrote down his address on a napkin. Carson left her his jacket – if she came by, he could get it then, or she could leave it at the diner. He didn't think she would try and keep it.

His place was tiny – three rooms in half a basement: a bedroom with a mattress on the floor and not much else, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in with a stove, microwave and sink, an equally tiny bathroom with the door off its hinges. It was home for now – dark and quiet and dry. Carson didn't have much stuff anyway, and never knew how long he might stay in one place. He'd left his foster home a little younger than Wendy, but he'd never looked back. He was cooking some noodles when she finally knocked. She was wearing his jacket and mostly dry, but still took the towel he offered.

"I don't have much to do down here," he apologized as she looked around the barren room, probably for somewhere to sit. "There's a tv but not much reception." He had a few books, but nothing he imagined she might want to read or look at. "You want some noodles?"

They ate together quietly, trying to recapture the vibe they'd had in the diner, but having her in his space made things different. The Hyde-voice was more confident, and he didn't like it, or how conscious he was that it was just the two of them, that probably no one else in the world knew where she was right now, no matter how self-assured she seemed. It wasn't that she wasn't careful, or wary. She was, but caution wasn't fear, and Carson could always tell the difference. There was something primal in it – something that pulled at his blood and made it harder to tune out Hyde. 

He wound up telling her he had some things he needed to take care of and left her to crash out while he wandered aimlessly through the town. Maybe he should get something else for dinner? Did she eat other meat? She could probably use a good meal, something more filling, but he wasn't sure of the risk. In the end he picked up a can of tuna (in case she wanted it) some cheese, and some cheap bananas on their way to overripe. His jacket smelled like her, and he couldn't stop noticing it, even out in the rain.

It was late when he got back home. Wendy had apparently showered, and when he came in she was washing up his few dishes. The tv was on in the background, playing some primetime show – the picture was terrible, but the audio was clear. She looked up when he entered, and he could tell she'd been doing some thinking of her own.

"Thanks. You didn't have to do that." He set the groceries down, such as they were. "I picked up a few things. There's tuna for you, if you want it."

Wendy smirked. "And you didn't have to do that. I'm not a cat though." Still, she peeked in the bag.

"That's good – I've never liked cats."

They wound up eating in the living room, both of them sitting on the floor stubbornly. Carson was telling her about working at the diner, trying to imagine what it might be like to really have a normal life. "I could ask, if you want," he offered, "see if they could use a Janice."

"I don't know." She set down the empty can. "I feel like this afternoon was the first chance I've had since I left home to really think about my life. I had two meals, I knew where I would be sleeping... I guess that's all I needed to stop worrying about the immediate and step back. You know – look at my life, look at my choices, all that."

"You can stay here as long as you need to, if you have more thinking to do." He meant it, but he also knew he was dooming himself to failure, even if he wasn't quite sure at what. Being a decent human being shouldn't have been such a struggle.

"Thanks." 

Wendy looked up at him again, studying him with that same look from the first day at the diner. She was searching for something, and Carson was suddenly worried she might find it. Hyde was afraid of her. Was that all this was? Placation? He had dared to let himself hope for something more, and he wasn't ready to abandon it.

"Carson? There's just something about you..."

Wendy trailed off, as though she couldn’t quite find the words for it either. He nodded and, unwilling to lose this moment, put his hands on her shoulders, leaned down his face to kiss her...

Their lips touched, parted, for a moment, or a taste. Then she pushed him back, hard.

"No."

He was shocked – at how strong she was, at how quickly his anger swelled, and how hard it was to wrestle back down. He didn't trust himself to move or speak as she scrambled to her feet, looking around for the bag with her few possessions, her jacket. Hyde wanted her, threw itself against the prison of Carson's will, making his body feel sharp and alien. If she'd been afraid he didn't think he could have held it back, but she was only angry.

"I'm leaving," she said as she located her things, not turning her back on him as she collected them. "Don't follow me."

Her words stung just enough to break his inertia. "Wait." He growled the word, but it had the desired effect. Wendy put her hands on her hips, still defensive, possibly waiting for a pointless apology. It was too late for that. He dropped his keys on the bare floor, pulling himself up, turning his back on her. His control was fragile – his skin was tight and hot and constraining. "You stay. I'll go."

He kept an emergency bag, and not much else, in the bedroom close, and he fetched it now. Even if she did leave, he didn't feel safe to be around other people anymore, and it was hard to know how long these periods would last. Wendy's gaze was boring into his back but he didn't dare turn to look at her until he was up the stairs. Her expression was unreadable.

"The shift starts at six. They'll pay you if work."

Outside, Carson lifted his face to the rain; it provided no relief, and he turned towards the road out of town.


End file.
